


Terrible, No Good, Very Bad Omens

by E_V_Roslyn



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 1992 good omens screenplay, 1992 script, 1992!Crowley being a piece of shit, Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Anxiety, Aziraphale Has an Anxiety Disorder (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Misogyny, Panic Attacks, Verbal Abuse, cursed omens, panic attacks dealt with poorly, shitscript
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:33:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22289467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/E_V_Roslyn/pseuds/E_V_Roslyn
Summary: A collection of one-shots from the cursed 1992 script AU. Please have your barf bags and kitten photos at the ready.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 42





	1. London, 1796

**Author's Note:**

> Just sit tight and we'll work our way through this together. I have half of a plan on where I want to take this, so stay with me.

In a barely lit corner of a sleazy bar, Crowley cackled as he beat his opponent in a game of checkers for the fifth time in a row, “Ha! Won again. Undefeated champion, this one.”

Aziraphale, ever the good sport, and seemingly unaware of the fact that Crowley had committed several illegal moves right under his nose, held his hand out in an honorable fashion, “Yes, you quite are. Good game, Crowley.”

Crowley pretended not to see the offer for a handshake and instead reset the pieces for another game. Aziraphale, slightly embarrassed at this, put his hand back down, “I say one more game, and then we call it a night.”

“Do you think we could play a different game?” The angel offered. “I’m growing rather bored at checkers…”

“Need something more stimulating, huh, Aziraphale?” Crowley asked. “I got just the thing. HEY! You there!” He called over a waitress, who seemed rather reluctant to comply. “Sweetheart! Get over here and load a couple’a gents up, won’t ya?”

“Here ya go, boys,” she handed them each another pint, tried and failed to hide a sneer at Crowley, and left to tend to the other customers. Then she tripped over nothing and spilled beer all down her dress as she clattered to the floor. The other patrons, including the demon and sans angel, roared with laughter.

Once the commotion died down, Crowley leaned further back in his seat, outstretching his legs, “That one’s all me,” he confirmed to Aziraphale’s glare. “The bitch deserved it.”

Aziraphale, to his own dismay, said nothing to this. Crowley took a swig from his pint and continued, “This is the life... I gotta get me a place like this. Where men can drink to their heart’s content and the women are pretty and ready to deliver.”

The angel took a sip from his own beer. He tried to voice to Crowley in the past that he’d rather drink red wine on their meetings, but each time Crowley called him a 'stuck up' and that he should 'get his wings out of his arse and have a little fun'. He didn’t bother to correct Crowley on the anatomical error of his statement, so he just let it go, “You know, Crowley,” he began, “funny you should bring that up. I was considering opening a place of business for myself to run. There’s a lovely little storefront in Soho-”

“Let me stop you there, Aziraphale,” Crowley took another chug and continued. “You, of all people, wouldn’t know shit about running a business. And what the hell would someone like you even possibly sell?”

“Well, you know I’ve been collecting books throughout the centuries, and I rather desperately need a more permanent place for them.”

“To sell?”

“Oh, w-well,” Aziraphale stuttered. “I... I wouldn’t actually be selling them. Not most of them anyway.”

“Then why the fuck,” he slammed his hands hard on the table, “would you put your books on display for sale in a fucking store, then?” Crowley had raised his voice, and inadvertently gained the attention of some of the other patrons. “Such a goddamn moron! See? This is exactly what I mean! Even someone from your lot can’t be so stupid to not know you’re supposed to actually sell books at a bookstore! Dumbass.”

Crowley slouched back in his seat, and the original atmosphere returned to the bar. A moment passed and Aziraphale sighed, “I suppose you’re right. My head office would never allow it anyway. I’m glad I have you as my voice of reason, Crowley.”

“Damn right,” the demon agreed. “Now, are you gonna sulk all night or should I beat your arse in another game?”


	2. London, 1941

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment if you want a particular time period/scene you want me to explore, as long as it goes with the plot of the 1992 script AU.

One minute, Aziraphale thought he had the upper hand in the situation; he hoped that reinforcement would arrest the two men who demanded the valuable artwork his earthly employer was in possession of, and he would return back with said artwork perfectly safe and not in the possession of the Nazis; and the next minute, he was surrounded by three Nazis in a church with guns all drawn on him, ready to kill, or rather, discorporate him.

Aziraphale held his hands up and stood still as he thought of a way to get out of this mess. At least, without drawing too much attention to himself in front of these humans. He was just about pleading for his life- “There’ll be paperwork!” when an unfamiliar young man burst through the entrance and ran up to the group as if he was running for his life.

“And who are you, exactly?” Mr. Glozier asked. All kept their guns on Aziraphale, but their gazes switched between him and the young man.

The young man was clearly frightened by the spectacle, but he almost made a convincing job feigning confidence, “I’m just a messenger, sirs. Ma’am,” he addressed. “I’ve got a message from a Mr. Crowley to a Mr. Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale beamed in delight, “And what does Mr. Crowley have to say?”

“He just said, ‘Bombs in London are unpredictable. One minute. Will take a miracle to survive.’ Odd message, isn’t it? Didn’t need to tell me that,” the young man chuckled to himself, likely as a means to cope with the constant endangerment of his life due to the war.

It didn’t take long at all for Aziraphale to realize what was happening. “Young man, you need to leave here immediately. It’s not safe here.”

Fortunately, the messenger wasn’t in a position to argue, “Yes, sir. Good night, sirs. Ma’am,” he nodded, possibly unaware he was talking to a group of Nazis and an unfortunate art dealer caught in their traps. Likewise, the boy should count his lucky stars that he was allowed to leave the church without getting shot and potentially survive tonight’s bombings. He was out the door in a flash.

“Did he say ‘Mr. Crowley’?” Mr. Glozier asked. “As in, the famous Anthony J. Crowley?”

“If that’s what he’s going by these days,” Aziraphale answered. He wasn’t aware of this new identity, or why these people knew of his supposed celebrity. Crowley failed to mention this the last time they spoke, but he figured he could deal with that later.

“And his message,” Not-Ms. Rose Montgomary added, “What did he mean by that?”

“One minute,” Mr. Harmony quoted. “One minute until what, exactly? Germany’s bombs tonight are to fall on the East end.”

Aziraphale smirked, “Are we sure about that? After all, someone might have… run them off course.”

The sirens that were merely background noise before seemed ever-the-more present now. But not as much as the sudden tremors around them and the whistling crescendo heard from somewhere above the four of them. 

A moment later, Aziraphale stood, perfectly unharmed, surrounded by blackened rubble and dying flames. He removed his hat and held it to his chest. In the far distance, he heard faint screams and cries for help, but he could only help so many people. Especially in these dark times.

Crowley emerged from somewhere in the dark, equally unharmed from the explosions, “Glad the message boy got to you in time,” he said.

“Yes,” Aziraphale nodded. “I do hope he got out alright. You did save me a lot of paperwork tonight. That was very kind of you.”

“I assure you, Aziraphale,” Crowley sneered, “that I was not motivated by kindness. My side hates these Nazi shits as much as yours do. They’re worthless in Hell. Just go straight in the pit. No good for us. Your boss got a hold of me when he found out that Rose Montgomery is actually the infamous German spy, Greta Kleinschmidt. I can’t believe you were so gullible to trust her.”

“My statement still stands, Crowley,” he affirmed. Aziraphale’s smile vanished when he remembered what else was in the church. “The artworks!” he gasped. “I was supposed to keep those paintings safe and now they’re blown to pieces!”

“Typical,” the demon scoffed. “You had enough brains to save yourself before the bomb dropped but didn’t think to save the things you were supposed to keep safe? You could have miracled the paintings safe instead of yourself. Be less of a waste, if you ask me.”

“I forgot,” he defended himself. “In the heat of the moment, I completely forgot. Oh, Mr. Crumbaugh will be so distressed by the news… Lord have mercy on his poor heart...”

“Oh, yeah, it’s your human boss you’re upset about,” Crowley said sarcastically. He stuffed his hands in his pockets. He walked around the angel. “Not the fact that you just left some of Europe’s most treasured paintings to burn to ash. And the fact that you,” he stopped to face Aziraphale, “miraculously survived.”

“The bomb was your idea, though,” Aziraphale pointed out. “Wasn’t there anything you could do?”

“No,” Crowley jeered. “There wasn’t. Not unless you wanted me to waltz in a bloody church and burn my damn feet off. There are some things I’m willing to do for you, Aziraphale, but making a complete fool of myself watching you make a complete fool of yourself is not one of them. Just be lucky I saved your sorry arse in time.”

Aziraphale nodded, and put his hat back on again, “Yes, right. Well, I best be off, then. I have a bit of explaining to do when I get back. I should think of some reasonable story of how I survived that bomb unscathed.”

“Yeah, alright,” Crowley turned to walk away. “We’ll talk more about this next week. Ciao.”

And then Crowley was gone. Aziraphale realized not a moment later he forgot to mention Crowley’s new identity- something he could save for their meeting next week. As well as ask for a lift home. Rose- or rather, Greta, drove him to the church. He knew where she had parked, and if her car had survived the raid, well… she wouldn’t be needing it anymore, now would she?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A reminder that in this universe, there is no bookshop, so there are no books of prophecy in Aziraphale's possession that anyone important would know about. At this point, he's an art dealer employed by some big-name art collector I made up during WWII. Aziraphale is not yet employed by the same museum as he is in the script. I imagine this version of Aziraphale to jump around jobs every couple of decades so to avoid attention.  
> The hypothetical artwork that Crowley did not save might be some kind of "traditional" Romanticism-modern art made by either older artists conforming to traditional values or newer artists afraid of stepping into true Modernism in a time where the world's most dangerous dictator wanted such works destroyed. These traditional-styled works would be paintings that Hitler would approve of. Think of idealized human forms, biblical/mythological themes, and the Pre-Raphaelites.


	3. Eden, 4004 B.C.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the Eden scene everyone is so curious about. This chapter ended up longer than I thought it would. Oops :)  
> Content Warning: Angst, Panic attacks, panic attacks resolved poorly, and 1992!Crowley being a shithead as always.

Aziraphale stood at the height of the massive wall he was tasked to guard and gazed worriedly at the human couple in the distance. The skies, which, prior to today, usually shone a simple, consistent bright blue, now packed heavy with varying shades of soft grey clouds and threatened water to fall from them. Rain, it’s called, as he’d been told. Weather aside, so many things have happened all at once, and the angel felt distraught over the whole situation. He was so beset in his self-doubt, he didn’t register another presence until it was speaking to him; in the form of a demon, no less.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that,” the angel apologized.

“I said, ‘Glad you caught the big show’,” the demon repeated. “I knew angels were daft, but I wouldn’t have guessed they were deaf as well.”

Aziraphale shot a glare at him, “Now, that’s uncalled for. We may have our differences, but there’s no use in throwing petty insults at each other.”

The demon scoffed, “I tempted that stupid woman and her idiot excuse of a husband to eat that forbidden fruit and you want to lecture me on politeness? What do I look like to you?”

“A demon, obviously,” Aziraphale answered. “Given that’s what you are.”

“So you’re not a complete waste of my time after all,” the demon held out his hand to shake. “Name’s Crowley.” 

Aziraphale stared at the outstretched hand apprehensively. Carefully, as if worried that a simple handshake would be enough to cause them both to explode, Aziraphale grasped the demon’s hand and shook it, “Aziraphale.”

“So, Aziraphale,” Crowley piped up, “How’s it feel to be the first angel to fail to thwart a demon? You almost made my job too easy. Heaven will be downright pissed at that.”

“I would prefer it if you didn’t remind me,” the angel muttered fretfully. “It’s been a horrid day. I’ve... I’ve been demoted.”

“Down from Cherub to Principality?”

Aziraphale gasped, “How did you-”

“Word gets around fast in these parts,” Crowley answered with a shrug. “Who am I to refuse myself to revel in an angel’s torment?”

The more time the demon spent talking to him, the less comfortable Aziraphale became. Which wasn’t much to start as is. He resorted to not saying another word and refocused his gaze on the human couple, keeping sight of Crowley’s figure right within his peripheral.

“And the sword,” the demon continued slowly, “was that part of your punishment too?”

“My sword?”

“Yeah, big flaming sword. They took it, right?” he stepped alarmingly close to Aziraphale. Close enough where he could no longer choose to ignore those golden, snake-slit eyes that felt like they were piercing into his very core. “Or did you lose it already?”

It’s true, for one, that he did not have his sword, and he did feel rather vulnerable without it at the present. The human man, Adam, could be spotted down below currently attempting to slay a lion with it, and Crowley would see it as well if he bothered to look the other way. But something told him that the demon already knew the truth.

As guessed, Crowley’s eyes lit up at Aziraphale’s damning silence, “You gave it to the humans.”

“I had no other choice!” he admitted. “There are dangerous animals down there, and she’s expecting already.”

Crowley let out a loud, unsettling laugh that seemed to stretch on far more than it should, “So you want to protect the sinners, Angel? Go against God’s will by regifting your sword that She made specifically for you?”

“I-”

“She’s going to find out, you know,” he whispered. “That is if She doesn’t know already. She’s omnipresent. You can’t lie to the Almighty.”

“Uh- I-”

“Look at those humans,” Crowley gestured down below. They both watched, one delighted and the other frightened, as Adam had successfully slain the first of God’s living creatures. “Have you wondered why they were punished so harshly?”

“They ate from the forbidden fruit of knowledge,” Aziraphale answered. “They broke God’s only rule. They were punished appropriately.”

Crowley hummed, “Were they, though? If God didn’t want them to eat from the tree, then why put the tree there to begin with? If they were to go against Her wishes, then why not make an effort out of it? Have them climb to the top of a mountain to eat it. Or put it in the clouds so they can learn how to fly to get to it.”

“Humans can’t fly,” he reminded the demon. “They’ve got no wings.”

“Still,” he continued, “God made it too easy. It’s as if She was wanting this to happen. And,” he paused, so to allow his next question to really get to the angel, “if this is true… If God gave humans free will and placed Her only restriction in the middle of the garden and easily within grasp, and if Her whole goal was to get those humans to crack so they’d be thrown out, then you tell me, Principality of the Eastern Gate...” Aziraphale turned to look at Crowley and failed to hide the stress the demon was causing him, “Why did God punish humans for simply being products of Her own creation?”

The grey skies above released the first-ever rain to fall on the desert land. It started subtly. Light drops one might have missed if it didn’t keep coming. Aziraphale shielded himself with his wings, and Crowley mirrored his actions. The rain fell louder and heavier, but not heavy enough to bother either of them yet.

“It’s not for me to question,” Aziraphale answered eventually. “I’m confident that God has Her reasons behind this. It’s all part of The Great Plan, after all. It’s unknowable. It’s ineffable.”

“Sounds like you’re scared, Angel,” Crowley added. “Do you know what I think? I think this whole ‘humanity’ business will be nothing but a disaster. The first two were dumb enough to fall for one temptation. What does that leave for their descendants? Assuming they live long enough to have any.”

“How optimistic of you,” Aziraphale shot back. “I, for one, believe that humanity might be the best thing the Almighty has created. They might have got off to a patchy start, but they’re new. They’ll learn, Crowley.”

“Oh, they’ll learn alright,” he agreed. “Their stomachs are full of forbidden knowledge, after all. And if the woman is expecting, as you put it, that means her child has that knowledge as well. Tell me, Aziraphale, what did they learn exactly from eating that fruit?”

“They learned right from wrong. The difference between good and evil,” he answered. “They learned that they were ashamed for committing such an act and tried to cover themselves up to hide their sins from Her.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with hiding their nakedness,” the demon pointed out. “Why were we given clothes and they weren’t, do you think?”

“You’re asking too many questions.”

“Heard that one before.”

“I’m sure you have,” Aziraphale retorted. He expected that to be the end of this unconventional conversation, but then Crowley snorted and attempted to hide his laughter behind his hand. “What’s so funny?”

“What if,” the demon placed his hand on his shoulder as if they’ve been friends for eternity. Aziraphale tried not to cringe at the contact, “What if it turns out that I did the right thing by tempting the humans and you did the wrong thing by giving them your sword?”

Aziraphale stepped back at that disconcerting question, “That’s not funny at all!”

Crowley revealed a sinister grin, “What’s wrong, Angel? Afraid I’m right? Or worse,” he again leaned in close to his face, “are you afraid the Almighty will smite you for your crimes? Going strictly against Her orders? For abandoning the weapon She made for you? For thinking, even for a moment, that you could get away with deceiving God? And you’ll lose your pretty white wings and golden halo,” he whispered harshly into Aziraphale’s ear. “Are you afraid you’ll fall? That you’ll lose your Garden of Eden? I promise, angel… when you fall, it’ll only be excruciatingly painful and humiliating.”

At once, all the panic the angel had been trying to dismiss violently resurfaced and grabbed him by the throat. Aziraphale could only stare at Crowley, wide and glassy-eyed. His breaths shortened. He gripped his hair by its roots and pulled. And he found himself stuttering uncontrollably, ranging back and forth between incoherence and mumbles of “Please” and “I can’t” and other short, desperate cries for help. 

As if the demon couldn’t have grown any colder, he only scowled in annoyance at seeing the angel mentally break down in front of him. He allowed Aziraphale to vent like this for a moment, but a moment was all the patience he had. 

“Stupid angel!” Crowley seethed. He gripped tight onto the angel’s wrists to pull them away from his hair, manhandling him in the process.

Aziraphale feared for his life, vulnerable, with no weapons to speak of, at the hands of a demon he’d been naive enough to lower his guard around. And now, he feared, that could cause his decorporation and God knows what else. He screamed and flailed his arms wildly to get them free from Crowley’s vice grip. Somewhere, Aziraphale heard thunder. Rain pelted down hard. He lost his footing against the slick limestone and fell on his back. Aziraphale cried out from the shock and realized his body laid precariously to the edge of the wall. Lightning flashed some distance away and the following thunder trembled through his bones.

Then the demon leered above him and grabbed Aziraphale’s robes at the sleeves. He hoisted him back to his feet and pulled him to eye level, “What the fuck were you on about?!” Crowley shook the angel’s body in rage. “Don’t fucking give me that look! Snap out of it!”

“Crowley, stop!” Aziraphale pleaded. At least now, he realized, he could form coherent sentences again. “Please. Let me go.”

Crowley glared into the angel’s frightened gaze. Eventually, he dropped his hands and Aziraphale stumbled back to gasp for breath. Both were thoroughly drenched in cold rainwater by now, yet neither moved a hair's breadth from where they stood out of the weariness of the other’s response. Neither spoke, but their silence bellowed louder than the rain and thunder around them. 

Eventually, Aziraphale quavered, “You didn’t kill me.”

“Of course I didn’t. You’re an angel. Kinda hard to kill, being immortal and all,” Crowley reminded him.

“What I mean is,” he corrected himself, “you could have discorporated me just now. You didn’t.”

“I didn’t,” the demon repeated.

“Why?”

“Well, uh,” Crowley hesitated. “we are the only one of our respective kinds on Earth at the moment. It would be boring if I was left alone to tempt humans myself without the risk of my efforts being thwarted. I suppose I didn’t kill your mortal body because it wouldn’t be as fun,” he ventured.

“Fun?” Aziraphale asked. “Fun. That wasn’t fun. You don’t not discorporate angels because it’s ‘fun’. Nothing about this,” he gestured vaguely, “is fun! This isn’t a game, Crowley!”

“Of course it is. This is all one big mind-boggling, ineffable game, Aziraphale,” Crowley countered. “This is a game where God is the player and we are nothing but a stack of cards being shuffled and thrown about in every direction, and Earth is nothing but the green velvet-lined table you bet on. And here you are,” he gestured to the angel, “behaving like a baby deer in pain because I asked you a few questions.”

“That wasn’t-”

“I snapped you out of it, didn’t I?” Crowley interrupted.

“Well, I suppose-”

“And you’re alright now, right?”

“Yes, but-”

“Great!” Crowley clasped his hands together. “Now, I don’t know about you, Angel, but I want to get out of this blasted rain. And I know a nice cove nearby to dry ourselves in.”

“So do I, Crowley, I’m sure we’ve both memorized every meter of the garden by now,” Aziraphale retorted.

Crowley ignored him in favor of spreading out his wings and shaking some of the excess water off them. He flew back within the shelter of the garden and vanished behind the taller trees. Aziraphale knew the garden wouldn’t be around much longer, and he assured himself that Eve and Adam and their unborn child will be alright until the rain stopped. And he was growing rather tired of walking in wet robes. Weighing his odds, he flew down as well to join the demon. A demon he supposed was acquainted with. A demon he’s supposed to rival against. A demon that terrifies the living daylights out of him.

Oh, what was he getting himself into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet you noticed that there's no "Crawley" in this AU. I headcanon that this version of Crowley immediately rejected his new Hell-given name because he wasn't allowing anyone to tell him who he is. He's also overwhelmingly curious, which led him to his fall, but while our Crowley held back on the questions around Aziraphale out of respect, this version of Crowley only forced these questions on Aziraphale because he wanted a reaction. And he got that reaction.  
> I also got some inspiration for this scene from chapter four of the fanfiction, Tastes Lost & Acquired by Skullflower. That fanfic also explores 1992!Crowley in a different way than I am, and it's really good! I would check it out after leaving a kudos and comment. https://archiveofourown.org/works/22278328/chapters/53204044

**Author's Note:**

> Are there any other moments in the Good Omens canon you want covered in this AU? Comment and we might see it in a future chapter.


End file.
